


Natural Enemies

by freckledandspectacled



Series: Nygmobblepot Week 2017 [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Miscommunication, Monsters, Nygmobblepot Week 2017, Pining, Sex, Unrequited Love, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckledandspectacled/pseuds/freckledandspectacled
Summary: Shortly after Edward dissociates while burying Miss Kringle, killing an unassuming hunter in the process, he finds the infamous Oswald Cobblepot wounded in the woods and in need of aid. After taking the mobster back to his apartment, Oswald reveals a new kind of Underworld to Edward, an Underworld he is now forever a part of.(Starts during Season 2 and carries into Season 3.)





	Natural Enemies

**Author's Note:**

> The Werewolf/Vampire AU I've been dying to write. Though I can't say I'm the first, I hope this is at least decent.

The first time it happens, Edward awakens alone in the woods. He’s naked and filthy and his mouth tastes like blood. He’s curled next to a hole in the ground, and inside of the hole is a black chest and a man with his throat ripped out. He looks like a hunter— like he _was_ a hunter, that is.

Edward finds his clothes torn apart not too far away, and he covers himself in his tattered coat. Though he’s exhausted, he needs to finish burying his dead girlfriend’s body. The explanation he cobbles together as he digs makes perfect sense. He had dissociated again when the hunter passed through and torn his throat out with his teeth. Why he’d stripped naked and torn off his clothes he doesn’t know, but he can think about that later. The task at hand requires his focus, and this section of the woods gets a lot more foot traffic than he’d previously anticipated.

He pulls his coat around tighter as he finishes digging, and leaves his food behind. Now that the bodies are hidden, the next most suspicious aspect of his person is that he’s barely dressed. Edward always keeps sweatpants and a t-shirt in his car, a habit dating back to when his clothes would be ruined or stolen during his high school years by his peers. He’d started bringing a spare change of clothes after the first few incidents, and his custom of stashing clothes had never stopped. He even kept an outfit in his desk at the GCPD.

When he returns, his sandwiches are gone, and there’s a heavy metallic smell in the air. Armed with a flashlight and his own determination, he sets out to find the thief with a vindictive air, motivated by all the insanity he’s been put through today alone. What he finds a little after nightfall is not what he was expecting.

Oswald Cobblepot limps out of a trailer and collapses to the ground in front of him, begging for his help. Within moments, he’s unconscious, and this was certainly not how Edward was expecting to end his night.

By some miracle, he manages to hoist Oswald up into a fireman’s carry. The man absolutely reeks, though Edward can only identify blood and the metallic tang from earlier. The peculiar scent has multiplied a thousand-fold, to a degree that pains Edward’s nose. He tries to hold his breath but quickly exhausts himself, panting with exertion from carrying the mob boss’s dead weight. When he gets to his car he’s starving and choking on Oswald’s musk. The last thing he wants to do is be trapped in a car with him, but Oswald needs medical attention and Edward is the only one who can provide that. Once he retrieves everything from the burial site, he’s gotten enough air away from Oswald that he feels better.

He wraps Oswald in the picnic blanket for warmth and rolls down his window so that Oswald’s stench doesn’t flood the car. Carrying Oswald to his apartment is another trial, but he manages. He strips the mobster out of his putrid clothes and then cleans and dresses his wounds. Finally, _finally_ , he can chuck the wretched rags in a dumpster. After dressing Oswald in a clean set of pajamas, he cleans up and makes himself some food, leaving a portion in the fridge for Oswald. Now all that’s left to contemplate is the small matter of what on earth happened when he dissociated. His doppelganger had once hijacked his body and dressed him in clothes suitable for the GCPD, but that had made sense. There was no sense in being naked in the middle of the woods. And besides, he’d merged with his darker half and seen nothing of him since.

Edward distinctly remembers hearing his clothing being torn off, most likely by his own hands. Yet he also remembers crawling on all fours through the underbrush, bounding over fallen logs and running towards… away from... something. Something that smelled like blood and, well, like Oswald. Edward shakes his head clear. It’s not the first time he’s dissociated, and it will most likely not be the last. Perhaps he’ll never make sense of it. Eventually, Oswald stirs.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Edward calls, making his way over to his patient.

“Where am I?” Oswald asks in a panic, jerking around in his sheets.

“Rapid movement and elevated heart rate are counterproductive to the healing process,” Edward cautions, unsuccessfully pushing Oswald back down onto the mattress. Oswald is much stronger than he looks, and Edward grabs the sedative he’d prepared earlier. It had been intended for voluntary administration, in order to help him sleep, but Edward finds himself with no choice.

“No! No! Don't kill me!” Oswald begs, twisting out of his arms. He’s delirious, and he’ll only hurt himself if Edward allows it.

“Apologies in advance,” Edward says, plunging the needle into his neck and depressing it. Oswald begins to go limp.

“Rest up, my feathered friend,” Edward soothes, “We have a big night ahead of us.”

***

The next time Oswald wakes, he gets straight to the point, ignoring Edward’s peace offering of water.

“You drugged me.”

“That was for your own benefit, Mr. Penguin. You have extensive injuries,” Edward says, still offering the glass of water. Oswald needs fluids more that he needs to rest right now. He’s still jittery, and Edward does his best to keep his body language and expression open and friendly. He isn’t sure exactly what his smile looks like, but he hopes it’s inviting.

“I know you,” Oswald says, realization coming over his face.

“Ed,” Edward beings, glad to be having a more cordial conversation.

“Nygma,” he tacks on, realizing the other man would appreciate having more information in his frazzled state. He decides to elaborate. “We met once before, at the GCPD.”

“You're not a cop,” Oswald says.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Edward laughs. “No, I'm in forensics.”

Oswald begins fussing with his clothing, and Edward can’t help but blurt, “Do you believe in fate?”

“Where are my clothes?” Oswald grumbles, picking at his pajamas. Edward breathes a sigh of relief that his slip has not been regarded by the other man. It wouldn’t do to embarrass himself in front of someone he thinks of as an idol.

“Oh, I threw them away,” Edward says, happy for the change in topic. “They smelled.” Oswald beings to rise from the bed.

“Oh, no,” Edward says, quickly placing the tray and water on his night table. “Oh, my. Uh, I'm afraid, sir, that you can't leave.”

“You sedate me again, and I swear, I will—” Oswald begins, belligerent.

“Sir!” Edward interrupts, “You are a wanted man. You can try and run, but with your condition, you'll get about three blocks. I'm afraid that you're stuck here until you recover.” Oswald stares at him, enraged, then pushes him back. He sits on the bed once more and winces; Edward pretends not to notice as he takes hold of the water once again.

“Now, drink up,” Edward says, noting more reluctance.

“It's just water,” he coaxes, “Dehydration is common after prolonged outdoor exposure.” Oswald pushes the tray away, and Edward manages not to spill it. Fine, then. He leaves it on the table.

“What do you want from me?” Oswald asks, suspicion in every line of his face and movement in his body.

“Remember I had mentioned fate?” Edward says, glossing over his earlier excitement. “Recently, I've been going through a sort of change. "What kind of change?" you ask.”

“I didn't,” Oswald deadpans.

“I've started murdering people,” Edward says, giggling excitably afterwards. “Wow! That is thrilling to say out loud.”

“How many people?” Oswald asks, his curiosity finally piqued.

“Three in total,” Edward says, noting the way Oswald rolls his eyes. “Two of them I didn't really care for. But one was my girlfriend, Ms. Kringle. She was the love of my life.”

“If you're planning on killing me, could you get on with it? At this point, it would come as a welcome relief,” Oswald sighs. He has far less will to live than Ed had previously conjectured. What happened to the man Edward had heard so much about, who was exiled from Gotham by Fish Mooney only to claw his way back?

“Oh, heavens,” Edward says, realizing what all his talk of murder might sound like. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I have no ill intentions toward you.”

“Then what are your intentions?” Oswald asks. For a moment, Edward feels a bit like a Victorian suitor requesting permission to court a charming lady. Oswald is neither. Well, he hasn’t been very charming _yet_.

“I need advice, Mr. Penguin,” Edward begins. “These murders changed me. And like the butterfly, I've come to realize that I cannot be a caterpillar once again. And you're one of the city's most notorious killers. I brought you here, in part, because I was hoping you could guide me on this new path.”

“Listen, friend,” Oswald says, laughing in a way that doesn’t make Edward feel all too hopeful.

“Ed,” Edward interrupts, trying to remain optimistic that term ‘friend’ means Oswald is going to bestow some sort of wisdom.

“Whatever,” Oswald says instead, ignoring his name and getting out of the bed. Edward does not attempt to stop him again. “My empire is in ruins. I'm a wanted man with no friends. And my mother— the one person I swore to protect— is dead because of my weakness. Believe me when I tell you that this path you're on leads to nothing but destruction and pain. So, wanted or not, I'm leaving,” Oswald says, heading for the door. Edward intercepts him, but those icy green eyes stop him in his tracks. He backpedals, feeling as though he’s being compelled backwards onto the bed.

“Oh my,” Edward whispers, lying against the pillows and tilting his head back.

“Nothing against you, friend, but water isn’t what I need to drink,” Oswald says. Edward finds he cannot move, and for the life of him, he has no idea why. Oswald crawls over him on the bed, practically lying on top of him. He doesn’t kiss Edward’s lips, but suddenly he feels them on the side of his neck. Then Oswald bites down, and every desire Edward has to flee vanishes. Whatever Oswald is doing to him feels like absolute ecstasy. It’s better than sex, better than successfully setting someone up, better that the rush of almost being caught, better even than the thrill of the kill. Edward finds himself becoming aroused and doesn’t think to question it, instead he wraps his legs around Oswald’s hips and moves against him, grinding them together through their clothes. Edward holds Oswald’s head to his neck with one hand, never wanting him to stop, even as he finds himself growing dizzy.

Suddenly, Oswald leaps off him, seemingly levitating back off the bed to Edward’s addled perception.

“What— what did you—?” Oswald falls to the floor, violently retching. Edward attempts to get up, but his head rushes and he falls back onto the sheets, unable to assist Oswald. He’s feeling very sleepy, actually.

***

When Edward comes to, he eats and gets his blood sugar up, then tends to the bitemark on his neck. That done, he hauls Oswald back into bed and out of the puddle of what looks like at least a liter of blood on the floor. Once he’s settled in, Edward leaves to get Oswald a gift he believes he’ll appreciate. Oswald vampiric nature means he’ll need supplies Edward hadn’t considered.

By the time Oswald wakes, his gift is wrapped and waiting for him.

“Ta-da!” Edward trills, laughing a tad self-consciously. Presentation is everything.

“Who is that?” Oswald asks, unimpressed. That’s fine, he’ll understand soon.

“This is Mr. Leonard,” Edward says, playing the guessing game a little longer by providing a cryptic answer. He can’t help himself, it’s just too exciting.

“You were talking in your sleep last night about Galavan killing your mother,” Edward says, in a rush to elaborate.

“I was?” Oswald says, sadness lingering in his voice. That won’t do.

“Yes,” Edward confirms, though he’s eager to veer away from that depressing topic.

“Mr. Leonard,” Edward says, grabbing his head, “works for Galavan.”

“Well, before he was arrested, of course,” Edward tacks on.

“Arrested?” Oswald says, leaning forward in interest.

“Detective Gordon arrested Galavan for kidnapping Mayor James,” Edward says, excitedly pointing around as his voice slowly raises in volume. “He's in Blackgate!”

Edward begins laughing, but all he gets out of Oswald is something that might qualify as a single laugh and a “huh”.

“Oh, I thought you'd be pleased,” Edward says, cutting back his own laughter now that Oswald has yet to join in.

“It doesn't matter anymore,” Oswald says. “Why is he here?”

“He was a gift for you,” Edward says, opening his hands to indicate their captive again.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do with a Leonard?” Oswald says, his expression bored and unimpressed.

“Kill him,” Edward says, grabbing his head once more. Oswald perks up some at that.

“I thought it might be nice to get some retribution for your mother's death,” Edward says, coming around the side of the bed. “That it might cheer you up a little.”

“No?” Edward asks. “You must at least be hungry.” Oswald hesitates a moment to observe him, then stands.

“You’re surprisingly blasé about what I am,” Oswald says, staggering over to his prey. “What are _you_?”

“I’m not anything,” Edward says, watching intently. Oswald transfixes him with that piercing gaze again.

“You must be something, or I wouldn’t have had any trouble feeding from you,” Oswald says. He moves Mr. Leonard’s head to the side and pushes the bag out of his way as he drinks. Edward watches, clutching his hands to rein in his excitement. Then Oswald pulls back. Much to Edward’s surprise, Mr. Leonard is still breathing.

“I'm done,” Oswald says. “I need some rest. And then I'm leaving Gotham forever.” He climbs into bed and under the covers. Edward is beyond disappointed.

“I really thought he would like you,” Edward says, addressing Mr. Leonard. “What to do now?” He begins moving his captive back into the closet when he hears Oswald humming and pauses a moment. Edward smiles as inspiration strikes, and he moves Mr. Leonard back into the closet with more purpose.

***

“The fire has gone out, wet from snow above, but nothing will warm me more than my, my mother's love. I light another candle to dry the tears from my face—” Edward sings along with the record, accompanying himself on piano.

“Why are you playing this song?” Oswald asks, defensive.

“I can bring tears to your eyes and resurrect the dead. I form in an instant and last a lifetime. What am I?” Edward asks him.

“A memory. So what?” Oswald snaps.

“You were humming this under your covers. I figure it has meaning for you,” Edward subtly pries.

“Every night when I was young, my mother would sing that song to me when I was going to bed,” Oswald shares. Edward senses an opportunity for closeness, carefully navigating himself onto the bed to sit across from Oswald.

“And every time, she would tell me, ‘Oswald, don't listen to the other children. You're handsome and clever. And some day, you will be a great man.’ She said that every time.” Edward smiles gently at him as Oswald holds back his tears, sniffling loudly.

“That's all I have left now,” Oswald continues. “Memories. And they're like daggers in my heart.”

“Not forever,” Edward assures him, reaching for a pair of glasses on the nightstand. “These were Ms. Kringle's. It's all I have left to remember her by. But when I look at these, I don't feel sadness anymore. I feel gratitude. And do you know why?”

“No,” Oswald states. “And I don't care. This little visit is over.” Oswald climbs from the bed.

“I will just simply bid you adieu,” he says, preparing to leave. He gives a little wave, and Edward can’t quite manage to keep the frustration from his face. He’s tried to be gentle, he has, but Oswald is giving up, and the time to be delicate about the situation is over. So much for his metaphor about Kristen in comparison to Gertrude. He’s going to need to be much more direct about the state Oswald has found himself in and exactly why he should be grateful for it.

“Mr. Penguin,” Edward says, strengthening his resolve and standing, blocking Oswald’s path to the door. “For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness.”

“Move aside, Ed!” Oswald bites out, anger and danger in his voice. Edward is not afraid of him. Oswald would have killed him before now if he intended to and he certainly possessed the means to do so. Edward believes that part of Oswald wants to hear what he has to say.

“We are better off unencumbered,” Edward says bluntly.

“What did you say?” Oswald whispers, trembling with barely controlled anger.

“You said it yourself,” Edward whispers vehemently, “Your mother is _dead_ because of your _weakness_. But what you need to realize is that your _weakness_ was _her_.” Oswald turns and grabs a knife from the kitchen counter, snatching Edward by his collar and pressing the blade to his throat.

“My mother was a saint!” Edward swallows, trying to tamp down on his fear. It’s rising from the immediacy of the knife and the danger it represents, not any danger he believes Oswald actually poses to him. What’s most important is that Oswald can’t see Edward is afraid of him, or he won’t respect him. It’s like dealing with an aggressive animal, really. “The only person who truly cared about me, and now she's gone! And I have nothing left!”

“A man with nothing that he loves is a man who cannot be bargained,” Edward says, the first part unintentionally coming in a rush. This is the opening he’s been waiting for. “A man that cannot be _betrayed_. A man who answers to _no one_ but _himself_.” He leans into the knife, into Oswald, trying to will him into seeing this truth armed only with his words and his gaze.

“And that is the man that I see before me,” Edward tells him, “A free man.” Slowly, Oswald backs down and releases Edward’s collar. Edward jerks his neck back from the blade, its cool temperature lingering on the skin of his throat where it had pressed down. When Oswald has lowered the knife to hover near his stomach, Edward reaches up and grabs it by the blade, pulling it from Oswald and then folding it shut.

“You don’t own a dog, do you?” Oswald asks unexpectedly.

“No,” Edward says, too caught off guard to question the reason for Oswald’s query. “Miss Kringle had one, though. Very yappy. I don’t like small dogs.” Oswald smiles up at him, or at least it looks like a smile.

“You don’t even know what you are,” Oswald says. “So desperate to form a pack bond now that you’ve turned, you’d even seek out one of my kind. Your natural enemy.”

“Turned?” Edward asks. “Natural enemy?”

“You might want to sit down,” Oswald says, slumping over to the bed.

“It’s going to be a long explanation. You should really have another werewolf giving you this ‘talk’,” Oswald says, putting air quotes around the word ‘talk’, “but I’m all you’ve got.”

“You think I’m a werewolf?” Edward says, settling next to him. “That just doesn’t make sense to me. In some ways, yes, but shouldn’t I have been… bitten, or something?”

“You went through a traumatic experience that caused you to turn. Either your mother or father, or both, carry the gene for it,” Oswald says, shrugging. “It’s more common than you think, it’s just that not everyone has back to back life or death experiences. Your first kill, Miss Kringle, and the hunter in the woods. They all caused a surge of adrenaline and activated part of your hind brain. Your body and brain take note of how often you’re in danger. They decided that enough was enough and that you required a superior method of protection.”

“Could you tell, back at the GCPD?” Edward asks. Oswald shakes his head.

“No, the gene hadn’t been activated then. Your endocrine system quite literally switches over the genes in your DNA and alters your body. You’re operating on a different system now. Before you turned I would have been able to drink from you, and you wouldn’t have smelled like a dog unless you were in contact with one,” Oswald explains. Edward is eager to know the true science behind this, to know what he can do know, what to avoid.

“Is there research on this?” he asks. Oswald nods, but he looks a bit pained.

“Look, I know you might be eager to get all the details, but they keep track of who’s looking at that information, and I don’t want you to endanger yourself looking for answers,” Oswald cautions.

“Why does that concern you?” Edward says, surprised at Oswald’s sudden kindness and advice.

“Us monsters have to stick together,” Oswald snaps defensively. “I mean, you’re practically an infant compared to me, newly turned and all. I feel some responsibility towards you.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” Edward smiles, feeling like he’s won a grand victory.

“And you saved my life,” Oswald grudgingly admits, “so it’s mostly because of that, alright? I’m a fair man.”

“What should I do?” Edward asks.

“I’ll hook you up with some other wolves who can give you the run when I get a chance ,” Oswald says. “I know a lot of people. You’ll feel better in a pack, regardless. It’s pretty much instinct for you people.”

“Vampires aren’t like that?” Edward asks. Oswald suddenly begins to laugh hysterically. Edward likes his laugh, more importantly, he likes being the cause of it. Part of him recognizes that Oswald is laughing _at him_ for his ignorance about the subject, but it’s so far from the Penguin’s previous despondent mood that he’s inordinately pleased with himself.

“Oh, definitely not,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Unless you’re connected through the change, we avoid each other. We never work together, and more than one turf war has occurred in Gotham due to hunting territory disputes. Not to mention the blood taxes…” Edward listens with wonder. Here was a whole world that had been operating beside his own, with him none the wiser. “Of course, vampire issues probably don’t interest you.”

“I think it’s fascinating,” Edward counters. “Could you tell me more about the system in Gotham?”

“Oh, I can tell you everything about Gotham’s underground scene,” Oswald says, conspiratorially. “Where to begin…”

***

“For my mother looks over me,” they sing in unison, Edward tapping away with his chopsticks.

“And again!” Edward calls. “The fire has gone out, wet snow from above, but nothing will warm me more than my, my mother's love.” He doesn’t realize Oswald has merely been listening to him sing until the verse is over. His smile fades, but Oswald still looks pleased.

“What happened to that gentleman you had tied up earlier?” Oswald asks, smirking a tad deviously.

“Galavan's lackey?” Edward asks, catching on to his good mood. Edward had ordered takeout, and while Oswald had indulged in the wine, he hadn’t eaten a thing. Apparently, food was a mediocre substitute for blood, and Oswald had already indulged himself.

“Why do you ask?” Edward says, folding his hands under his chin. He believes he knows exactly why. Oswald smiles at him yet again, and Edward feels he could get used to this. He turns to look at where Mr. Leonard was stored earlier. Edward gets up and walks to the door, waiting until Oswald is behind him to open it. The door creaks ajar, and Mr. Leonard’s frightened noises are allowed into the apartment again.

“My mother always said a party is not a party without entertainment,” Oswald says, smiling his largest smile yet at Edward. His stomach flips, and he immediately turns his attention to dragging Mr. Leonard out of the closet and closing the door behind him.

“Why is it that you tried to drink from me when you could smell that I was a werewolf?” Edward asks. The conundrum has been bothering him.

“The likelihood of being rescued by a wolf was extremely slim, I assumed I was weak and disoriented and took the chance that my nose was wrong. I was also very, very hungry.” Following his first taste of Mr. Leonard, Oswald had been mostly healed, save for his leg. Edward wonders how this second foray will affect him, now that his ills are cared for.

“What was it that you did to me earlier, before you bit me?” Edward asks, fetching himself a knife from the counter. Edward’s teeth were still blunt, though Oswald had allowed him to observe his fangs earlier. They were fascinating.

“I compelled you. It’s like a kind of hypnotic state that leaves you open to suggestion,” Oswald says, circling Mr. Leonard.

“Could you do it again?” Edward asks, “Now that I’m aware of it?”

“It wouldn’t be as easy, but yes. I’m not actually the best at it. For that you’d want to talk to Fish Mooney. My expertise lies in resisting compulsion, actually,” Oswald says, roughing laying his hands on Mr. Leonard’s shoulders and making him cry out.

“That seems like a useful skill to have,” Edward says. “Could you teach me?” Oswald looks him up and down, considering.

“I’ve never taught anyone, and I don’t know if creatures other than us _can_ be taught to resist compulsion,” Oswald disclaimers.

“But?” Edward leads.

“But I would be willing to try,” he concludes. “Just remember that I’m not the most powerful you may face in that regard. Even if you did manage to break my compulsion, it won’t mean you can escape another’s.” Edward nods.

“I’d be grateful to you if you did, there’s a lot I need to learn.”

“Now,” Oswald says, clapping his hands down on Mr. Leonard’s shoulders again. “Let me show you what you can do without turning.”

“What do you mean?” Edward asks, stepping up to Mr. Leonard so he’s standing in front of him.

“There exist certain elements of your abilities you can remain in control of without going full wolf,” Oswald explains.

“Is it always a voluntary transformation?” Edward asks.

“Not always, such as in times of distress where your wolf will protect you,” Oswald explains. “But no, the full moon mythology is all malarkey. Now, I want you to smell him.”

“Smell him?” Edward asks, approaching and taking a cautious whiff.

“You’ve probably noticed that your sense of smell is much more enhanced,” Oswald says, waiting for Edward’s nod of acknowledgement. “Well, an incredible ability you’ve been gifted is the ability to scent emotion.” Edward supposes that makes sense. Feelings were chemicals, molecules. Molecules attached to receptors in the nose to leave the impressions of scents. He inhales again, leaning in closer to Mr. Leonard’s neck where the scent will be most prominent.

“Is that… fear?” Edward hazards a guess. It’s acidic, almost citrusy. Oswald nods and slaps their captive about the head. The scent thickens, confirming his hypothesis.

“That’s… fascinating,” Edward says, astonished. Oswald comes around behind him and takes his hand, examining Edward’s nails. They’re trimmed neatly, clean. Oswald runs the pad of his finger below Edward’s nail, above his first knuckle.

“Do you feel that?” he asks, and Edward can feel the way Oswald is rolling something just under the surface.

“Are those claws?” Edward asks, quick on the uptake. Oswald smiles.

“Yes, and they’re very useful as a last-minute defensive resort. Try to ease them out, it may sting a little since the accommodation is so fresh for you, but with time the skin with toughen and become used to it.” Edward focuses intensely on his hand, willing it to move. Oswald lets him try for a minute before intervening.

“You can’t will them to come out, regardless of how much brain power you have,” Oswald explains. “You have to _feel_ it.” He takes hold of Edward’s hand again, bending his finger back and then pushing and squeezing under the nail until something emerges from under his cuticle. It stings a bit, like Oswald had said it would.

“Did you feel how that happened, what had to move?” Oswald asks. Edward nods, then tries on his own again. Slowly, and a bit painfully, all the claws on his right hand emerge.

“That’s excellent,” Oswald praises.

“Did you want to try them out?” he says, indicating Mr. Leonard. Edward tests the sharpness, cutting through the thread of a button on his shirt and popping it off. He does the same to the rest, then gently runs his claws down the man’s chest to see just how far he needs to push to break the skin. Mr. Leonard screams once he really digs in, muffled as he is by the gag. Edward slashes this time, dragging his hand through some of the fabric as he rips across his chest, lines perpendicular to the ones he’d made before.

“You’re a natural,” Oswald says, somehow much closer that Edward had believed him to be. “This next part is tricky, and I want you close to him. It’s alright if you end up turning.”

“What do you want me to do?” Edward asks.

“Remember how I showed you my fangs earlier?” Edward remembers. They came down from above his teeth, long and sharp. The protrusions looked like they could be easily broken, but Edward knew better. Oswald’s fangs were designed to dig deep, and the evidence was on his own neck.

“Yours are not like that. When you turn, your bone structure is physically changing. However, you can be taught to control this in increments. One such increment is allowing your teeth to turn but not the rest of you. Your jaw may also elongate slightly, but don’t let it get out of hand, alright?”

“Got it. Erm, you wouldn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, do you?”

“I have a vague idea,” Oswald says. “But it will help if you’re closer to our friend here, and if he’s perceived as either a threat, or prey.”

“Do my kind… eat people?” Edward asks, cringing a bit at the thought. That would be so unsanitary.

“Not generally, but they will defend themselves. Bite back, so to speak.” That’s somewhat of a relief. At least he won’t be coughing up fingers after a rough night. Edward settles into Mr. Leonard’s lap, straddling him. He cries out pathetically, and Oswald slaps him. He doesn’t quiet.

“Whatever,” Oswald says. “Scent him like you did earlier, listen to his heartbeat, all that racing blood and soft flesh. Do you feel the ache in your jaw? Let go, let that tension release.”

Edward breathes deeply, letting his jaw go somewhat slack. He feels pains in his teeth like a drill touching a nerve and fights though it, letting his tongue run along his canines to find them sharper already, larger than before.

“That’s good,” Oswald says, “That’s enough.” Edward takes another deep breath and tries to make the pain in his teeth stop, but his jaw feels like it’s jutting out more, he can’t stop them. He panics.

“Edward,” Oswald calls, cupping his face. Edward already feels more calm. Perhaps Oswald is compelling him in some fashion. “You’ve done marvelously, can you remember what they felt like before? So small and square. Tighten up your jaw and bring it back, just like that, yes. Bring it back. Right there, stop there.”

“Thank you,” Edward says, though it’s enunciated with more difficulty than usual. His tongue isn’t quite able to hit the same spots it’s supposed to. His mouth feels too big and too crowded.

“Try biting him,” Oswald says, pulling Mr. Leonard’s shirt and jacket down to reveal his shoulder. Edward leans closer, shifting in his lap, then picks a spot on his shoulder and closes his teeth around it. He bites gently at first, feeling the way his teeth catch, then harder. He keeps going, making note of exactly how much force it takes to draw blood, to break skin, to tear muscle, to reach bone. How much to rip back and take a chunk of flesh with him that he spits onto the ground. The muscles in his jaw feel stronger, like there’s more force packed in there than before. What use were big teeth without any power behind them, Edward supposes.

“Excellent job,” Oswald says, standing directly behind Edward as he watches the proceedings. “Can you retract the rest of the way yourself?” Edward clears his mind and closes his eyes, ignoring Mr. Leonard’s agonized wails. He remembers when his mouth was small and his teeth so tiny and blunt, letting his face relax and the muscles tensed and ready to attack diminish to their usual size. He grins up at Oswald.

“Good?” Oswald tilts his head.

“I can’t remember if your smile is really that big or not, but I think it’s fine. They’re the right shape, at any rate, and that’s good enough to pass. Well done, Edward.” His grin only widens.

“I’ve been selfish, though,” Edward says, indicating Mr. Leonard. “I took a bite out of your gift.” Oswald smirks.

“The best gifts are ones you can share,” Oswald tells him. He presses against Edward and leans over his shoulder to access Mr. Leonard’s other, unbitten side.

“I want you to smell it when he dies,” Oswald whispers into Edward’s ear, sending shivers down his spine. He nods. Oswald latches on to Mr. Leonard’s throat, sandwiching Edward between them. Edward feels hot, even with Oswald’s cool body at his back and Mr. Leonard’s cooling one at his front. He leans in closer to where Oswald is feeding to watch, and Oswald takes the room he leaves to press tighter against him. Edward can smell everything here, and even Oswald’s putrid metallic scent is bothering him less than it had the other night. He smells something else, too, something like sex. The reason is made clear when Mr. Leonard begins growing hard beneath him, his clothed cock pressing up in between Edward’s cheeks. So, Oswald’s bite isn’t just arousing to him, judging by the moans the bound man is making.

When Mr. Leonard dies, it stinks of piss and shit, and Edward can no longer hear his heart beating or the blood in his veins. He stops smelling like Mr. Leonard… like _life_ , and begins smelling… _stagnant_. Edward supposes the two are fundamentally opposed. Oswald moans behind him and then presses his bloodied lips into the crook of Edward’s neck.

For a moment, Edward is afraid Oswald will bite him. Not because he fears for his life, though to a degree he does fear for Oswald’s, given the reaction he had earlier to Edward’s blood. No, he’s terrified that he’ll have the same reaction he did the night before.

Those fears immediately abate when Oswald says, “Ugh, I’m so _full._ I haven’t finished someone off in less than two nights for _decades_.”

“How old are you?” Edward asks, deciding that the question may be taken better when Oswald is loopy from the blood.

“Perpetually thirty, technically fifty. I haven’t had that much since the first year I was turned, so, two decades now.” That’s not as big of an age difference as Edward had expected. He does some quick math in his head and determines that he’s absolutely fine with dating an older man, though Oswald is the only man he’s ever—

What is he thinking? Dating Oswald? The man had said himself that his species typically remained alone, not to mention that their kind were fundamentally opposed. What was it Oswald had said? ‘ _So desperate to form a pack bond now that you’ve turned, you’d even seek out one of my kind. Your natural enemy._ ’

“What was it that happened to me, when you bit me?” Edward says, no longer able to avoid the question. He needs to know if these lingering feelings for Oswald are a side effect of his bite. Oswald blushes, flushed enough now with blood that he’s capable.

“Ah, yes. That. It’s another way of subduing our prey. When the bite is pleasurable, they’re less likely to resist. More… pliant.”

“Do the effects last?” Oswald tilts his head.

“No, it’s only as long as the fangs are in. They secrete hormones which trigger pleasure centers in the brain. There’s a whole host of vampiric brothels catering to it, since it’s basically a drug.”

“Why hasn’t anyone tried to market it on its own?” Edward asks. The obvious question in a society like Gotham. Someone must have tried to capitalize on this.

“Only a vampire’s unique biochemistry can keep the hormones in suspension. The environment has so far proved too delicate to recreate, though many scientists have tried. My kind have paid the price for our gifts in recent years,” Oswald says, lips tightening in anger. Edward doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

“I only ask because… The effects have seemed to linger on me.” Edward says, leaving himself room for a denial or retreat should Oswald miss his meaning.

“That—” Oswald flushes again. “Perhaps it’s because of your physiology.”

“Can I try something?” Edward asks, noting how Oswald has remained close to him despite the necessity being long over.

“If you think it will elucidate you,” Oswald says, leaving himself room to justify this. Good. They’re both on the same page, then. Edward twists in Mr. Leonard’s lap and reaches for the back of Oswald’s head, bringing their lips together. Oswald tastes like blood and like sweets, and he cups the side of Edward’s face to deepen the kiss, tilting his head back. Edward leans into him, trusting his strength, but he feels ravenous for Oswald’s kiss and this angle isn’t good enough. He breaks the kiss and stands, taking Oswald’s hand and leading him the short distance to Edward’s bed.

He turns and Oswald shoves him back, sending him sailing into the center of the mattress where he lands with a bounce. Oswald practically flies forward on top of him, immediately pulling at Edward’s bloodied sweater and disrobing him. Edward assists until he’s shirtless and then pulls at Oswald’s top, taking it off. Oswald scoffs and rips his bandages off, revealing perfect, unscarred skin beneath. Edward traces the place where there had once been a wound with wonder, nothing but smooth marble there now.

“Fascinating,” he breathes, and then Oswald steals his breath away with another kiss. Somehow, their clothes all come off. How and when, Edward isn’t sure, especially once Oswald begins rutting inexpertly between his legs while he sloppily teases Edward’s tongue with his own. Edward flips them, taking their cocks in hand and biting his bottom lip in concentration.

“Edward, oh Lord,” Oswald says, nails scraping down his thighs. Edward likes the feeling, wants to ask him to do it again when Oswald rolls him, putting Edward on his back once more.

“I want to be inside of you,” Oswald says, green eyes flashing with desire. Despite his reservations, Edward finds himself saying yes, drawn to Oswald by a force he can’t name. There’s lube in his nightstand that Oswald uses to stretch him open, and Edward has never felt so good. Oswald’s fingers push inside him in a blur of time and pleasure, and then Edward is taking his cock.

“ _Oswald_ ,” he cries, the press of Oswald inside of him like warm lightning up his spine. Oswald rocks into him, filling him up, bolts of ecstasy spiraling in his stomach.

“Edward, oh my god, you’re so tight. You’re so _warm_. You’re perfect, Ed, you’re perfect. Are you close? I’m close,” Oswald gasps, pressing kisses to Edward’s cheek.

“Bite me,” Edward begs, wanting nothing more than the feeling of Oswald’s teeth sinking into his neck again while he sinks his cock deep inside of him. Oswald eyes flash and darken again, and he moves his face into the crook of Edward’s neck. When he bites down it’s like nothing Edward has ever felt before, pleasure coursing from his head to his curling toes as he comes with a scream, his neglected cock bouncing between their stomachs and spasming with his release. Oswald instantly releases his neck, pumping into him with renewed urgency.

“Ed— you’re so beautiful, Ed,” Oswald gasps, hips stuttering quickly into him. “Oh, fuck, you’re perfect, you feel so good.”

“Come on, Oswald,” Edward urges, pressing their foreheads together. He wants Oswald to come, wants him to feel what Edward had felt. How to get him there?

“You— you’re so handsome, Oswald,” Edward says, drawing on what Oswald had told him earlier. “You made me feel so good, made me scream for you. I want you to come now, come inside of me.” Oswald kisses him and bites his lip, then pants into the side of his neck. His hips stutter and he grunts. Edward can smell it in the air when he comes, like something in the atmosphere has been charged. He feels different, he feels high. He’s never had sex like this, not even close. He never knew it could be like _this_.

His senses seem heightened; he can feel Oswald’s faint heartbeat fluttering against his chest, hear the slight whistle in his nose when he inhales. Oswald makes to move off him and Edward instinctually holds him closer, legs locking around his hips before he’s even aware of what he’s doing. Oswald looks up at him quizzically.

“There’s no rush,” he says, clutching at Oswald’s shoulders and trying to bring him back down against his chest. He wants to hold him, to be held. He rubs his face into Oswald’s hair and sniffs, the scent of product lingering enough for his sensitive nose. Any unpleasantness to Oswald’s smell has vanished, but Edward doesn’t notice the absence of his earlier, unpleasant aroma so much as he notes the pleasant smell Oswald is now giving off. Oswald presses kisses to his chest and runs his hands down Edward’s flank, cold fingers trailing down to his hips. Oswald kisses him gently, and they lie like that for some time before Oswald moves and Edward lets him. Oswald goes into the bathroom, and Edward allows his fingers to move between his legs, catching Oswald’s release on his fingers as he feels it drip out of him. He sniffs at them cautiously before willing himself to taste, and it’s not unpleasant. Perhaps oral sex wouldn’t be out of the question at a later time.

“Jesus, Ed,” Oswald says, approaching the bed with a washcloth and a glass of orange juice. Edward hadn’t even seen him pour it.

“You don’t taste bad,” Edward says, wondering how he’s going to explain this. “I was curious.”

“Anything else you’d like to know?” Oswald sasses, passing the cloth between Edward’s legs. He hisses, still sensitive from their earlier activities.

“Can you have children?” Edward asks.

“What?” Oswald says, face going white as he drops the cloth on the bed.

“I just meant to say— I didn’t even know it would be possible for you to have sex, although I guess you still have blood in your veins and a beating heart and that’s all you really need for an erection… What was I saying?” Oswald’s expression only grows more alarmed. Edward snaps his fingers.

“Right, okay. Children. I mean, all you need to have is viable sperm and you’d be able to have children. I mean, not with me, I can’t have your children. You would also need someone with a female reproductive system,” Edward rambles, swallowing harshly.

“Are you always this honest after sex?” Oswald asks, retrieving the cloth and cleaning off Edward’s stomach.

“Yes,” Edward answers, thinking back to his only other encounter. “So far, I mean.”

“It’s cute,” Oswald says. “It’s different. Most people lie, or so I’ve heard.”

“Thank you,” Edward says, smiling gently. Oswald tosses the cloth and crawls up the bed to sit against the headboard. Edward rolls onto his elbow to look up at him.

“To answer your question, I’m not sure,” Oswald begins. “I’ve never considered it.”

“You don’t want kids?” Edward says. He’d always considered progeny to be part of the plan, but lately he’s been seeing that it might be best to just scrap the whole idea of who he _should_ be.

“I’ve never had the opportunity to seriously consider whether I did,” Oswald says. Edward supposes that’s fair enough. Oswald was a practical man, after all. He slides down the bed to lie down, and Edward rests a forearm on his chest.

“How many people have you been with?” Edward asks. No doubt Oswald is much more experienced than he is.

“Just one,” Oswald says, looking up at him. Edward’s jaw drops.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, lifting a leg over Oswald to slot between his so he’s resting more comfortably on Oswald’s chest.

“You’re the only one, Edward,” Oswald says, lifting a hand to his face and brushing a strand of hair back. “Do you mind if I stay a while longer? I know my injuries have healed, but—”

“You can stay as long as you need,” Edward says in a rush. He coughs. “I mean, hosting the Penguin as he plans his miraculous comeback is something I wouldn’t want to miss.”

“How about hosting a friend?” Oswald says, running his fingers down Edward’s spine until his hand rests in the small of his back.

“What if it was something more?” Edward dares to whisper, leaning in so his lips are a breath away from Oswald’s.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Nygma,” Oswald says, voice gone dark and husky with lust. “I accept.”

***

The week passes in a flurry of long nights kissing and planning, and Edward spends hours breaking free from Oswald’s compulsions with the eventual goal being that he can assist him during negotiations with other vampires. Then Jim Gordon becomes involved. Edward respects him, trusts him, even. But he invades the quiet domesticity and routine Edward and Oswald had begun, and then for several days Edward exists in a state of panic when Oswald doesn’t come home, following the use of Edward’s apartment as a base of operations for a gang war. The next time Edward sees him, he’s being dragged into the GCPD.

Edward promises Oswald he’s going to get him out, but Oswald seems to have no will to leave, too resigned to his fate. He tells Edward not to risk himself, and has Edward promise to leave flowers for his mother. Edward agrees, and does his best not to let his coworkers see his heart breaking on the way to his desk. When Gordon confronts him, it’s everything he can do not to beg him to save Oswald. He would blackmail Gordon with the knowledge that he helped killed Galavan, but he’s sworn to Oswald he won’t. All he can do is wait. He can’t even visit Oswald in Arkham, a move his lover had deemed too suspicious, too implicating. Everything is grey, his senses have dulled, and he almost feels the way he had before he’d turned. Helpless.

Then Oswald shows up at his doorstep, and it’s everything Edward is hoping for. He smiles so wide his face hurts, and that’s when he smells Oswald.

Rather, he doesn’t smell Oswald. Whereas before the other man reminded him of the scent of stormy weather, the Oswald that stands before him is… empty. The change puts him on edge, and it only takes a few minutes of observation to know that the person who has come back to him is not _his_. He sends the pretender packing and cries himself to sleep, renewing his vows of revenge on James Gordon for taking this from him.

***

When Oswald visits him in Arkham, he’s his Oswald again. Edward launches himself across the table and into his arms and weeps. A guard attempts to pull them apart, ranting about touching the inmates. Oswald hands him a roll of money and tells him they’re allowed conjugal visits. The guard nods and leads them to a private room where Edward cries into his chest and Oswald tells him the horrors he’d endured in Arkham.

“Strange wanted to create a formula from the hormones our fangs secrete,” Oswald tells him. “I’m not the only vampire he had in his possession. He was also working on a way to make us docile, to reject our killer instincts and even the taste of fresh blood.”

“But your step-mother broke through that conditioning with what she did?” Edward asks. Oswald nods.

“Oh, yes. Poor Grace, she couldn’t even tell Sasha’s blood was sweeter than her brother’s,” Oswald says with a grin. Edward smiles back and kisses him, and they don’t stop kissing until Edward’s pants are around his ankles, Oswald’s fingers twisting inside of him _just so_. Edward gasps and pulls Oswald into another kiss, lights flashing at the edges of his vision every time Oswald crooks his fingers the way Edward likes best.

“Just do it already,” Edward whines, legs bent up around Oswald’s shoulders, his uniform pants bunched around his shoes.

“A moment please, love,” Oswald requests, drawing his cock through his trousers and slicking it down before dragging the wet head though the crease of Edward’s ass. He pushes in with one long, slow thrust and lays kisses over Edward’s face until he’s begging Oswald to move, knees pressed to his chest and unable to push back against Oswald himself. Once Oswald finally begins, he doesn’t stop until Edward is seeing stars. Edward wraps a hand around himself when he’s close, coming between their stomachs. Oswald leans down and renews the bite mark on his neck, and Edward has never felt so alive. He feels like _himself_ again. The ecstasy of Oswald’s bite prolongs his orgasm, and he shudders underneath Oswald from the intensity of it, the feeling of Oswald coming deep inside him. He chants Oswald’s name like a mantra until the man himself silences his adoration with a kiss.

Oswald pulls free, carefully lowering Edward’s feet to the bed and then using the corner of a sheet to swipe between his legs. He does his pants up, then Edward’s, the taller man lifting his hips to help. Oswald settles onto his back and invites Edward to cuddle on top of him with open arms, and Edward goes eagerly, kissing the side of Oswald’s throat and then pillowing his head above Oswald’s softly beating heart.

“I’m not going to be able to do this again,” Oswald says. Edward bites back his disappointment, already feeling the specter of emptiness and loss of meaning that Oswald’s words bring, which his touch had only just banished.

“Can you still visit me?” Edward asks, trying to fight back against the impending unhappiness with something good to look forward to.

“Of course, there’ve just been a few… complications. My maker is back.”

“Fish Mooney?” Edward asks, sitting up on Oswald’s chest.

“Her intentions towards me are unclear. I don’t know what she’ll do, but her powers are stronger than ever. I need to be careful,” Oswald says.

“Take whatever time you need,” Edward assures him, and at the time, he means it.

***

Months later, he regrets his decision to be understanding. Oswald never touches him during visits, though he ensures that Edward has every comfort. Edward feels starved for it, but Oswald seems to be pretending they’re little more than friends. What choice does he have? It’s only when the other inmates notice that he learns anything of value.

“What’s going on with your mate, Eddie?” Sharon asks, sitting beside him. “You don’t smell like him anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Edward asks, miserably stabbing his mashed potatoes with his fork. He’d barely touched his dinner.

“When you first got here we could all tell you were mated, but you didn’t smell like it. We thought they must have died or something. But then you turned up with your mark all new and looking like a million bucks. I mean, you smelled pretty gross, but you looked happy enough. Now you’re all miserable and blah smelling again. So what’s going on?” Edward had found a few other wolves he got along with well enough in Arkham and formed a sort of pack with them. The trouble was that they were all imbeciles, mentally unstable, or both. Yet they kept one another safe, and they’d assisted Edward whenever he asked it of them. What Sharon is saying now makes no sense, however. He hadn’t mated with Oswald, it wouldn’t even be possible to. They’d just slept together.

“I don’t have a mate,” Edward says, remashing his potatoes yet again.

“That’s bullshit, I can literally see the marks on you. And my nose doesn’t deceive me,” she continues, tapping it gently.

“These bites are from a vampire,” Edward says, “No mating involved.” Sharon’s plastic fork hits the table with a less-than-dramatic clatter.

“Oh my gosh,” she says, “That makes so much sense.” Edward rolls his eyes. Sharon is a paranoid schizophrenic and a ruthless conspiracy theorist who can fit just about any data point into her twisting arguments. Edward isn’t sure she understands the true meaning of the word ‘sense’. Though she has been doing better on her more recent medication…

“Do enlighten me,” Edward drawls.

“You’re mated to a vamp, that why you smell so awful when you come back from seeing ‘em,” Sharon explains.

“And how exactly would I have ended up mated to this vampire without being aware of it?” Sharon merely stares at him, blank-faced. “Sharon?”

“Oh, Christ, you’re serious,” Sharon says, shaking her head like she’s throwing off cobwebs. “Okay, so you like this vamp, right? You’ve got strong feelings for them?” Edward nods.

“Alright, so you’ve been bitten by the vamp, obviously, but have you had sex?”

“Yes,” Edward groans, “Please get to the point.”

“Did they bite you during sex?” Edward blushes. “Well, that’s a yes. Congratulations, kiddo, you’re mated.”

“What does that even entail?” he asks. He understands only the very basics of mating, and even then, it’s only the information that the other wolves had felt comfortable relaying to him while under the watch of humans. He doesn’t know anything about how it could be detrimental to his kind, the other werewolves steadfastly maintaining their secrecy and instinctually protecting others like them in spite of their mental instability. This standard, and the fact that they haven’t shared the details of this with him, means it’s unlikely that this is a just a passing thing,. Yet he has to hope it is, because there’s no way Oswald would commit to being with him. He’s not that kind of guy. Oswald isn’t even interested in being in a relationship at all, as far Edward can tell. He takes a deep breath. Maybe this whole mating this isn’t even a big deal.

“Well, it’s for life, of course.” Edward’s hopes shatter like a broken mirror. “You feel really good with them, and they smell nice, and everything’s shit without them, and you want to be close to them… You know, basic love stuff. Except like, with actual commitment involved.” Edward feels his face draining of color the more she goes on. It doesn’t escape Sharon’s notice.

“Oh, honey, you really didn’t know? You have to tell ‘em, or you’re just gonna be miserable the rest of your life. However long that ends up being…”

“His name is Oswald,” Edward says, pressing his fingers into his eyes.

“You need to tell Oswald, baby, I’m sure he’ll understand. These kinds of things don’t happen unless he loves you back.”

“Oswald is _not_ in love with me,” Edward snaps. “He’s not one of us, Sharon. I could be mated to him and it doesn’t necessarily have to be the other way around.” Sharon’s lips purse.

“Well, you might be right, but you’re never gonna find out if you don’t stop being a pussy about it.” She leaves him in a huff, and Edward puts his face in his arms and tries not to cry.

***

Oswald doesn’t touch him on the car ride home from Arkham. He puts Edward in a separate room and doesn’t tell Edward where _his_ room is. They have breakfast together, then Oswald gives him new clothes before leaving him to dress alone. He supposes that hoping Oswald would come onto him with a line about ‘getting you out of those clothes’ was a little too optimistic. Edward thinks for a moment that he’s going to do _something_ when he presents Edward with their framed certificates, but the moment passes unfulfilled, like so many others. Edward initiates almost all of their contact on the campaign trail, and when Oswald finally pulls him close of his own volition Edward is so starved for it that it makes him feel faint.

He tells Oswald a love riddle to no avail, and the night Oswald wins the election he feels dizzy with anticipation as Oswald closes the distance between them, reciting his riddle word-for word. Later, when they speak privately, Edward expects it to become something more. Yet Oswald remains professional, and Edward follows his lead. It’s all he can do. He’ll take what he can get. Being kept at a distance is preferable to pushing too hard and risking losing Oswald entirely.

Exposing Butch is as much about the principle of the thing as it is remaining the person Oswald is closest to. He takes great pleasure in exposing him, and the near-death experience via strangulation is worth it to feel Oswald’s hands on his face again. It’s worth everything.

Later that night, though, Oswald still remains reserved. He makes Edward tea, he sits beside him on the couch… but as far as Edward can tell, the emotional distance is still there. For a brief, shining moment, Edward almost thinks Oswald is going to kiss him, but then the other man hugs him instead.

“What are you playing at?” Edward whispers, clutching the back of Oswald’s robe.

“What do you mean?” Oswald says, rubbing his hand along Edward’s back. It feels so good, it’s almost enough, yet not quite. Edward simply cannot take it any longer.

“You don’t want me anymore, is that it?” he asks, tears pooling in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, fine, but you could at least have the decency to tell me to my _face_.”

“Edward, no,” Oswald says, pulling out of the hug and holding his biceps. “This is a huge misunderstanding—”

“Tell me what I’m not understanding!” Edward yells. “All I know is that you haven’t touched me in months, you keep me in a separate room— we haven’t once discussed what this relationship between us even is! What am I waiting for, Oswald? I don’t know what you want from me, that is, if you want me at _all_.”

“Calm down—”

“ _Calm down?_ ” Edward screeches. “That’s rich, coming from you. Why should I calm down when you’ve been pushing me away again and _again_ with no regard for how I’m feeling? I haven’t even had the chance to tell you that you’re my _mate_ because you’ve been ignoring me!”

Stunned, Edward takes a deep breath, all of his frustrations spilling forth after months of telling himself to be patient. Oswald’s jaw drops.

“Did you say… I’m your mate?”

“Yes,” Edward says, tears spilling over. Now Oswald will certainly reject him. He didn’t have time to indulge Edward, wouldn’t want to. He’s shown Oswald his hand, and now it’s Oswald’s game. “I didn’t know this could happen, or I wouldn’t have let it without your knowledge. I know this bond is probably an inconvenience to you, but I do consider us to at least be friends, and I was hoping we could work out some arrangement. I’m sorry to spring it on you like this, but I just couldn’t wait another—” Oswald’s lip quivers, and then Edward has his arms full of him as they crash back against the couch. Oswald’s lips press against his, then over his face, random pecks to every available inch of skin.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Edward. I was trying to protect you, I thought you understood,” Oswald whispers fervently, pressing passionate kisses to Edward’s face.

“Clearly, I don’t,” Edward says, pulling Oswald’s suit jacket open. He wants to touch him, wants it more than anything.

“Fish Mooney returned to Gotham more powerful than any vampire I’ve ever known,” Oswald says. “I had to distance myself from you to keep your scent off and to keep her from finding you if I encountered her again.”

“Oh,” Edward says, the logic of his actions becoming clear to him. “Then why are you doing this now? Isn’t she still at large?”

“Because I don’t give a damn,” Oswald says, “Because you’re fucking _irresistible_. And because _apparently,_ I’m your mate, and the past few months qualify as neglectful even by _human_ relationship standards. How could you even stand it, Edward? Most of your kind would have gone insane.” Edward shoots him a look, and realization crosses over Oswald’s face. To be fair, Edward actually _had_ gone insane.

“You mean to say that… it happened before I went to Arkham?” Edward nods.

“I mean, I think it happened the first time we… you know. Then you were in Arkham and I… had a difficult time, as you know. Then _I_ was in Arkham, and it was pretty much more of the same. I didn’t think anything of it; it was just how I’d felt for quite a while. We were together for such a short period of time, I had no frame of reference, really…”

“I’m so sorry, Edward, I can’t even express— we were apart longer than we were together and you… and I’m really your _mate_? I can only imagine the pain that must have caused you. I know wolves who’ve _died_ from separation… it was a phenomenon Strange was interested in. I could have lost you. I could have lost you _tonight_.” Oswald drags the back of his hand over his eyes.

“It’s alright, Oswald. You didn’t know. I didn’t even know,” Edward assures him. All of his frustration from earlier vanishes with Oswald’s touch. He doesn’t even understand how he allowed himself to become so agitated.

“I should have known,” Oswald insists. “I knew things like this could happen, I knew you became more unstable when we were apart and I know you haven’t been yourself. I should have seen it, I should have been more responsible. I could have killed you…” His eyes go wide, panicked, and Edward clutches at Oswald’s hand and brings it over his heart.

“I’m still here,” Edward says. “Nothing happened, you haven’t lost me. I would do it all over again to have this, Oswald. I would do anything for you.”

“I love you,” Oswald says, brushing the fingers of his other hand over Edward’s face. “I love you, Edward.” Edward gasps, tears prickling in his eyes. He had been so wrong, about _everything_. Oswald loved him, he wanted him. They were going to be okay.

“I love you, too,” Edward says, his voice cracking. He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh, a hiccup, and a sob. He kisses Oswald through his tears, and Oswald begins undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“What about Fish?” Edward asks, helping Oswald undress.

“I would tear this city apart brick by brick before I let anyone lay a single finger on you,” Oswald vows. Edward sucks in a breath and works faster to disrobe, Oswald’s passionate declaration making his heart do flips in a way ‘I love you’ never could for men like them. “She’ll guess your importance to me from the photographs taken in the Sirens tonight, so will my other enemies. Having your scent on me is no longer a concern. In fact, I’m no longer concerned at all. They don’t stand a chance against us. I’m the King of Gotham, I’m its Mayor. You’re in possession of the most brilliant mind to ever grace City Hall. What chance do they stand against us, Edward? What chance?” He kisses Edward again, fingers hurriedly moving over buttons.

Edward reaches a state of nudity first, pulling Oswald on top of him despite his shirt being half off, his trousers bunched around his thighs. He needs Oswald now, needs to touch him, to feel him. Oswald spits in his hand and strokes Edward’s cock, Edward’s fingers reaching for his in turn and taking him in hand. Oswald ruts between his legs and pushes Edward’s hand away, building up a friction between them that simultaneously feels divine and like something he could go to hell for.

“May I bite you?” Edward asks, nails dragging on the exposed part of Oswald’s upper back. Oswald stares into his eyes and nods.

“Yes. Yes, you may,” Oswald says, and for some reason the phrase sounds almost ceremonial to Edward. Like a vow. “I’m yours, just like you’re mine.” Edward whimpers and kisses him, dragging his mouth down to Oswald’s neck.

He kisses him there, sucks on the skin until it bruises and then kisses it again. He lets his blunt teeth press into the flesh there ineffectively, and then he sharpens them. He bites down until he draws blood and Oswald fills his mouth, the blood tasting like him but also not-him. Edward bites down a little harder to be sure it will leave a mark for at least a little while until Oswald heals, lukewarm blood covering his face and spilling down their throats. Oswald runs a hand through his hair and Edward is filled with a sense of _rightness_ so strong he sobs into the place he’s latched on to Oswald’s throat and comes, breaking away to arch against Oswald and cry his name. His teeth reform and Oswald smothers him with a kiss, licking into his bloodied mouth, hips stuttering as he comes rutting between Edward’s cheeks. Oswald runs his hands down Edward’s sides and doesn’t stop licking his mouth clean, pointed tongue sweeping over Edward’s face and down his neck to collect the blood drying there.

“Nothing will ever part us again,” Oswald vows, kissing him gently.

“I’m moving into your quarters tonight,” Edward says, his tone nonnegotiable.

“You drive a hard a bargain, Mr. Nygma,” Oswald says, his green eyes twinkling. “I’m willing to negotiate, on the condition that you be there every night.”

“I think I can manage that,” Edward says. “Take me to bed?”

“Your wish is my command,” Oswald drawls, standing from the couch and fixing his clothing before offering Edward a hand up. Edward slips the robe on and leaves his other clothes behind, unwilling to stain them with blood and leaving the front of the robe undone to prevent that. Oswald leads him to the bedroom and opens the door, Edward strolling after with no regard for his nudity. It wasn’t as if anyone was milling around. He slips out of the robe and throws it over a chair, making a beeline for the bathroom and washing the blood from his face, the bruises from Butch Gilzean stark on his neck. Oswald follows behind him, wrapping his arms around Edward’s waist.

“I’ll kill him,” Oswald says.

“Let me see your neck,” he replies, turning in Oswald’s arms. He cleans the wound and covers it using the small supply of bandages Oswald indicates are under the sink. Afterwards, he makes his way to Oswald’s large mattress and settles in for the first time, watching his mate strip the rest of the way out of his clothing before joining Edward on the bed. Oswald spoons behind him and kisses his shoulder, one arm coming around Edward’s middle to press them together.

“I hope my mark doesn’t fade too quickly,” Edward mutters, settling into the pillow.

“It never will,” Oswald says. Edward twists around in his arms to see him, eyes widening in excitement.

“Really?” he says, sounding like a kid on Christmas.

“Really,” Oswald echoes. “Natural enemies, remember?”

“Oh, of course. Natural enemies,” Edward repeats, pressing a kiss to Oswald’s nose and settling down against the mattress again. He sleeps well that night— and every night after that— in his natural enemy’s embrace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie got his man, I'm so proud of him. He probably wold have suffered in silence forever if Oswald hadn't wasted that PERFECT romantic moment on a hug. Come on, Oz, you've already slept with the guy, just kiss him! Ugh. This isn't really from Oswald's POV, but he basically think he has a benefits thing going on with Ed and that they've both agreed to suspend things until the Fish situation is resolved. Yikes. Anywho, lemme know what you thought of this in the comments!


End file.
